Lethril
by MissDriver
Summary: Fourth age. Lethril's father refused to fight in the war, and the family has been marked as traitors. When the young son travels to Dol Amroth to begin a new life, he has difficulties fitting in, and sets out on a far greater journey. PG13 - adult themes.
1. To Dol Amroth

He looked much like any young Gondorian his age. The slight olive tint to his skin, his hair the hue of darkest ink, his lean body frame and straight nose – all traits he shared with so many men in the south. Only his sad, greyish eyes spoke of his mother's northern blood. Yet Lethril, son of Anthril, led a life very different from the other boys in the village.

Tonight, it was Lethril's turn to cook dinner for him and his father. They had lovingly called him an unexpected accident, for after two decades of what they has thought was a marriage lacking the blessing of fertility, Lethril had arrived when his mother was already nearing forty years of age. Anthril, his father, had a grey, yet full, head of hair and walked with a stoop, but age had not dampened his spirits. It was now two years ago that Lethril's mother died. A persistent cold in the damp winter months had seized her last breath after weeks of fevers and coughs. When she finally passed away, Lethril had felt both sadness and a strange sense of relief. She had always been poorly – now she drank the wine of the eternal afterlife beside her sisters, with that healthy glow to her cheeks that he seemed to remember from his childhood.

They managed well on their own, but it was a lonely life. Never in Lethril's lifetime had they lacked food on their table or shelter from the elements, and still, this is not all a young man needs in life. With watchful eyes he had always followed the lives of the other children in the village, from behind the fence, or from a branch high up in a tree he had seen them nabbing sour apples from the cider grove, running away laughing or being caught by the ear and given a hiding with tears streaming down round cheeks. He had seen them playing a different game every day, and as he grew older, the girls stopped braiding their hair and the play turned to shy glances and brief kisses behind barns.

There were a few girls in the village that Lethril thought pretty, and boys who seemed decent enough, but he had learnt long ago that their eyes passed over him much like they would over a cripple in the street, or a stray dog. Once he had made a friend – a boy from a family who were new to the place, but after a couple of days – and Lethril often thought of them as the happiest in his life – he stopped coming to their house. Now he, like the others, pretended he did not see him.

Of course, it was no secret why Anthril and his son had been quietly but firmly excluded from the small community of the village. It had been forty years and more since the great War and overthrowing of Sauron, but memories live on in the hearts of men longer than it takes wounds to heal, and many were they who still called Anthril a deserter, sometimes traitor. Old Anthril himself did not mind. Strong in his beliefs, he spoke often and at length to his son of the evil of war, and how choosing the right words would resolve any conflict without the spilling of blood. Anthril was one of the few young men to refuse joining the army which marched against the forces of Sauron, and for that his son paid bitterly.

As he set the table, Lethril's father came in, hair in a mess and face flustered from the chill wind blowing outside. Lethril felt a wave of momentary anger, which he quickly repressed. In his heart he blamed his father for the loneliness, but to his mind, it seemed reasonable to refuse to fight. They sat down to eat, and Anthril, as usual, spoke cheerfully of the day's events. Lethril, however, was not listening. Like the thick stew before them, his mind had been bubbling with ideas, warming to them and now they were finally formed, ready to be revealed.

'Father,' he said suddenly, interrupting the old man's flow of words.

'Yes?'

'Father, I am leaving.'

The words sounded so large, so strange, when he heard them. Much greater than in his thoughts did they echo out over the small cottage. His father seemed oddly calm.

'It is not a good time for travelling. The roads are in a state with all this rain,' he remarked.

'I have made up my mind. Nothing you say can stop me.'

He realised straight away how ridiculous his words were, for his father had not at all tried to stop him. It surprised him a little, but his father was an unusual man. Now his eyes twinkled with mirth at his son's display.

'If you must go, you must. I will not stop you, for I always hated my father for trying to rule my life. But go at once, or your heart might change.'

'No, my heart is made up. I will go in the morning, when I have light to see.'

His father shrugged and returned to his meal. Lethril, feeling light-headed and excited could not manage another bite. As soon as the table was cleared, he laid down to sleep. His rest was fitful and many dreams came to him. He saw a great forest and beyond, mountains. His mother spoke to him, her dead skin peeling, and the flesh rotting beneath. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them. She changed then into a young woman with golden hair, and Lethril desired her, but her face was not known to him. With a gasp he awoke, and outside could be seen the first light of morning.

* * *

By the gate, he turned to his father, whose dark eyes were openly flooded with tears. Unashamed he cried, but Lethril felt little more than anxiety.

'Take my counsel and go north,' his father begged once more.

'But Dol Amroth is only a few days away, and the weather is milder there. Perhaps my road takes me north later, but not now.'

'Lethril. I know in my heart that this is the last time I see you before I join your mother. May life treat you well, and perhaps in years to come, your grudge against me will die.'

'There is no grudge,' said Lethril, but a stab to his heart told him there was. But now he also felt true sorrow in leaving home. He squeezed his father's hand once, then turned and did not look back as he walked briskly down the muddy road, to the south and Dol Amroth.

As his father had predicted, the road was poor, and within minutes, Lethril's boots were soaked. Still, there was a spring in his step as he for the first time walked further from the village than ever before in his life. The skies were grey and heavy with rain and soon a steady drizzle had soaked his hood. His hair curled up from the wet and stuck to his face, but Lethril had no thought of turning back.

After a few hours of slow trudging, he saw a figure coming towards him on the road in the rain. As the distance between them shrank, Lethril saw that it was a man, some years older than himself.

'Hallo, friend,' shouted the stranger.

Lethril, a little taken aback by being addressed as friend, or addressed at all, stopped dead, unable to speak at first.

'I say, hallo,' shouted the man again.

'Yes?' replied Lethril uncertainly.

'Ah, for a moment there I thought you couldn't hear me,' said the stranger, stepping up to him.

'I beg your pardon, sir, I was just a little surprised…' Lethril trailed off and reminded himself that "traitor" was after all not written on his forehead.

'Fair enough,' said the man and eyed him curiously. 'I was just wondering what the road ahead might be like.'

'Oh, I have only come from the next village, sir, but the it's the same all the way there, and beyond, I'll wager.'

'Yes, always poor, the roads this time of year. Are you heading to Amroth?'

'I am,' said Lethril.

'Well, about a day's walk ahead, you'll find that the going gets easier. Higher ground, of course, and it's not raining. At least it wasn't last night! Tell me, this village… Do they have an inn? That is to say, is the inn respectable?'

'Oh, yes. The Leaf of Vine, it's called,' said Lehtril, picturing the building he had only seen from the outside. 'Very grand place.'

'Do a nice brew, do they?'

'Oh, yes,' said Lethril and nodded vigorously. 'Very fine.'

'You're a good lad,' said the man approvingly. 'I wish you well in Dol Amroth.'

'Thank you, sir.'

As the man walked on down the road, Lethril stood gazing after him for some time. This was just what he had hoped for. To anyone he met, he was simply another traveller, someone to exchange a few words with to ease the boredom of walking in the rain.

* * *

That night he slept in the hayloft of a barn. A farmer had agreed to let him eat and stay the night in exchange for a coin. Lethril was not sure of its value, but made a point of keeping the little pouch his father had given him, saying that he only had a couple. The farmer had a sour face, but his wife was round and jolly and gave him second helpings of soup and bread. Their oldest daughter shot him glances that made him blush furiously to her unending delight, but he did not desire her. Her face was blotchy with small, beady eyes and a upturned nose, and her dull, dark hair was greasy and unkept.

As he lay in the damp hay, he thought of the woman in his dream. He knew that he would never desire anyone like he desired her, and her face was still before him when he closed his eyes. Hair like gold, like sunshine and honey. Like ripe wheat and amber.

The next morning, the farmer offered Lethril a ride in the back of his cart for another one of his coins. Although he had a feeling the farmer was sneaky and stingy, he accepted and made himself comfortable atop the sacks of carrots and potatoes of last summer. It had stopped raining, and the clouds rushed by overhead in a cold blue sky. The cart was uncomfortable, but they passed a great deal of travellers who walked, and Lethril was pleased to hear that they would reach Dol Amroth by nightfall.

Just as the sun was setting, they climbed over a hill, and Lethril saw the sea for the first time in his life. It took his breath away. The vastness of it, the last rays of the dying sun making it seem on fire. A breeze of salty air hit him and his heart soared. To think he had lived this close to something so magnificent without seeing it until now. And below them lay the city of Dol Amroth, larger than any of the villages he had passed in these two days, a thousand times larger, and although it was too far away to tell, he knew it was sprawling with life, full of people he had never met before, who knew nothing of him or his father.

As the light failed, Lethril sank back down among the sacks, a satisfied smile on his face. A new life was about to begin.


	2. Captain Harkal's Ship

When Lethril awoke, it took him a moment or two to fully realise that he was not in his own bed, but lying on a thin layer of straw spread on the floor, surrounded by other men. It was the common room of an inn, for the night turned into a resting place for those who could not afford a room. The air was rank with sour sweat and stale mead and Lethril knew he stank as bad as anyone else. The landlord came in, still drunk and puffy-eyed, and started kicking those who still slept.

'Get up, you dung heaps. Get up and make yourselves useful.'

Lethril soon saw what he meant when the others rose muttering and started to pull forward the tables and benches that had been pushed against the walls to create space. He lent a hand and soon they were all sitting down, being served a breakfast of bread, cream and mead. Feeling light-headed from last night, Lethril avoided the mead, but dunked the soft, white loaf into the cream and ate happily. Suddenly, he noticed someone standing behind him. It was the landlord.

'Paying for that, are you?' he asked roughly.

'Of course, sir,' said Lethril and glanced up at the fat man.

'What with?'

'I have coins,' said Lethril and started rooting through his pack for the little pouch. The room had gone quiet, and he became painfully aware that every eye was focussed upon him. The pouch was gone. 'I had coins, they were right here,' he said and looked pleadingly at the landlord.

It dawned on him then that the landlord had known all along that the pouch was gone. The smirk on his face confirmed his suspicions. Surprise turned into confusion and then anger.

'You took it!' said Lethril.

The fat man slapped him across the face so hard that he nearly tipped backwards onto the floor.

'How dare you accuse me of stealing in my own house! You get out this moment and never come back!'

With that, he grabbed Lethril by the collar and half led, half dragged him outside and threw him onto the cobbled street. Before the door slammed shut, Lethril could hear cheering and clapping from inside. Seething with anger and shame, he stood up and looked around him. The sun had only just risen and the street was empty.

'Eventually he will lose even his regulars,' came a voice from behind him. Just by the back door to the inn sat a man in rags and a hooded cloak, evidently too poor to even afford a place on the floor. Lethril, who in his innocence looked down on no man, glanced at him curiously.

'Not all men are like him,' continued the shabby man from beneath his hood, 'but you would be wise to always use your valuables for a pillow.'

Lethril thought he could make out a smile on the man's lips.

'Who are you?' he asked.

'No-one to most, but maybe someone to you. Go now and learn of life the hard way. Perhaps we will talk again, later.'

With that, the man stood up, remarkably swiftly. He was tall, taller than Lethril, who was by all means a fine height. Was he old? Lethril could not quite decide, and before he had a chance to meet the stranger's eyes, he had turned and walked away. His stride was great and proud, and he soon turned a corner and disappeared.

'Wait!' shouted Lethril suddenly and ran after him, but turning that same corner he found nothing but an empty street.

The early morning mist that rose from the sea made everything hazy, and as Lethril wandered aimlessly, he soon started wondering whether the man had been real, or some remaining fragment of a dream. Inevitably, his steps soon took him down to the harbour, already bustling with activity as the fishing boats came in with the tide to sell their catch to the market salesmen. Lethril was very good at watching, and he sat atop a barrel for the next couple of hours, trying to figure out how it all worked. There was a lot of shouting and haggling, and sometimes the negotiations even came to blows, and then he would feel a strange mixture of disgust and excitement. He knew it was wrong, but it was compelling to look at.

Eventually he had decided what he wanted to do, and by a stroke of luck, he witnessed an incident that would change his fortunes that day. The captain of one of the larger boats had caught one of the deckhands drinking some of wine they had shipped from another harbour to Amroth. It was fine wine, too, for the castle, and not even the captain himself had dared a sip.

'There are hundreds of the likes of you out there, so don't flatter yourself thinking I need you' barked the captain at the boy, who was already walking away, red in the face from shame and perhaps an earlier beating. Lethril saw his chance and hurried over to the captain, who was huffing and puffing furiously, his cheeks expanding like great big bellows.

'Perhaps you could do with some help aboard that ship of yours?' asked Lethril and smiled.

The captain swivelled around, taken aback by this prompt offer. Then he looked the boy up and down, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at his clothes.

'What's your name, boy?' he asked.

'Lethril, sir.'

'That's captain to you. Have much experience sailing?'

'No, sir, captain.'

'I could almost tell. You look like you came straight from one of them villages a few miles off. How old are you?'

'I will be seventeen this summer, captain.'

The captain grunted, but Letrhil could not guess what it meant.

'How'd that happen?' asked the captain and nodded to the bruise on his left cheek.

'The landlord at the inn stole my pouch of coins, and when I confronted him, he hit me, captain.'

'Aye,' said the captain, a sudden wave darkness sweeping across his features. 'I know the one. Well, my lad, you are in luck. Come down here in the evening before the tide comes in again and we'll see how you get along. I am Harkal, the captain of this ship, but to you, I am always captain Harkal.'

'Yes, captain Harkal. Thank you, captain.'

* * *

He spent the morning wandering the harbour, marvelling at the crowds that gathered for the fish market. Never in his life had he seen so many people together. There were men, women and children of all ages, and even a few cats and dogs. To Lethril, it seemed awfully disorganised and chaotic, and he soon took refuge amongst the branches of a tree. He had only sat there for a little while when a voice called up to him.

'Why, that is a rather splendid idea! Mind if I join you?'

It was a young girl, perhaps a couple of years younger than himself, but already with the sensual glittering eyes of a woman.

'No, not at all,' said Lethril, climbed down to the lower branches and extended a hand to help her up.

Her grip was firm, but her hand soft, and the dark eyes unsettled him. Suddenly they shared a branch, and she was so close he could smell the fish on her hands and the salt in her hair. He climbed swiftly upwards again, to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. She followed slowly, held back by the skirts of her dress. Soon they were sitting side by side, the girls swinging her legs happily and humming softly. Lethril searched for words, something to break the silence, but the feeling of being so close to a girl overwhelmed him.

'A quiet sort, aren't you?' said the girl, looking straight at him. 'What's your name?'

'Lethril,' he replied quickly, glad to have something to say.

'I'm Nella. This is a good spot. Splendid view!'

He followed her gaze towards the sea and spotted a large ship coming into the harbour. Now he noticed quite a crowd gathering on the seaside, all seemingly waiting for the ship to moor.

'What is that ship?' he asked Nella.

'Don't you know? It's a delegation from Rohan. What are you doing up here, if you're not waiting for that? A little old for climbing trees, I'd say!'

Lethril's knowledge of geography was very limited. Rohan was a name he had not heard often, and he vaguely associated it with fierce warriors and horses.

'Are they coming to start a war?' he asked, passing over Nella's comment on treeclimbing.

Nella burst out laughing, a loud, clear laugh that made Lethril's ever-present blush a shade or two darker.

'Of course not! You are not from Dol Amroth, are you? They have come to visit the castle.' Nella pointed to the distant hills. The mist had almost cleared now, and there lay a grand building with many pinnacles and banners. At least Lethril knew that the King did not live there, but in Minas Tirith, far away to the north. Rohan was probably even further away. He wanted to ask Nella so much, but was afraid she might laugh at him.

'I don't know much,' he said apologetically. 'I only came here yestereve.'

'Oh, it doesn't matter,' said Nella and smiled at him. 'I like you. You're not like other boys.'

He lost himself in her eyes. They were so very dark, like deep pools he could drown in if he looked too long. Her hair was dark and curly, framing her round little face. She had so many freckles they almost joined together, but Lethril still thought her pretty. Was she leaning a little closer? Her soft lips parted, almost expectantly, but at that moment a cheer rose from the gathering on the shore and they pulled apart.

Lethril felt dizzy as he turned to look at the men of Rohan, but he had to wait a while yet, for the crowd surrounded and followed them, but they were heading up the street where they sat. In his dreams he had kissed many girls, and he had always imagined it would be easy, but Nella had surely kissed many boys before him, and now he was frightened. The unpleasant events of the morning were forgotten. Now he had already found means of survival, and here he was, sitting in a tree next to a pretty girl.

The delegation was much closer now, and for the first time ever, Lethril saw men of a different land. He started openly at their bright hair. A dozen or so of them were mounted, and Lethril wondered if the horses had come on the ship, too. Then he noticed there were women amongst the riders! His heart skipped a beat as his eyes darted between them, their hair just as golden as that of the woman in his dream. As the passed close to the tree, he breathlessly studied their faces, but although they were all beautiful and proud, none of them was _her_.

'Very lovely, aren't they?' said Nella, but there was a hint of frost in her voice. Lethril may have been oblivious of many a thing, but he could tell she was jealous.

'You are prettier than any of them,' he said, and was rewarded with a smile. Then suddenly she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his before scrambling down the branches and onto the ground. She looked up at him and waved, then ran off and disappeared into the throng of people.

He spent hours looking after her, but she was nowhere to be found. Like the mysterious man that morning, she seemed to have vanished without a trace. Eventually, darkness began to fall, the market stalls were shutting and Lethril abandoned his search and headed for captain Harkal's ship.


	3. Lethril the Mariner

**Chapter 3 – Lethril the Mariner**

For one who had lived so close to the sea, Lethril knew very little of sailing. Ships were known to him – his father had described them, and he had seen woodcuts, but they were nothing compared to the very real ship of captain Harkal. The first thing Lethirl noticed about it was that it was never absolutely still. Even here, in the calm waters of the harbour, it rocked gently, making Lethril sway on his feet.

The crew was five men strong, including Lethril himself and the captain. The first mate was a sullen, quiet man of maybe forty years. He busied himself with planning routes and pouring over maps, and barely glanced up with Lethril was introduced to him. The first mate shared a cabin with two others, both deck hands, but of a higher rank than Lethril. Lethril slept in the kitchen. The first deck hand, and the most superior, was called Kerhal, and kept close to the first mate's side. The other was only a couple of years older than Lethril, and his name was Delwyn. Lethril did not quite know what to make of him. He was always talking, and waving his thin, bony arms about animatedly. He had round, bulgy eyes, made even more prominent by his thin face and hollow cheeks. There was something about him that Lethril did not life, but he put his doubts aside when Delwyn seemed truly interested in Lethril – and for someone who had spent most of his life alone, attention was something new, overwhelming and flattering.

Lethril's tasks, when explained, sounded manageable, if not easy. The deck was to be scrubbed every morning, to wash away the salt residue from the spray of the sea. The crew had one meal at night, and breakfast before returning to shore. If the journey was longer, Lethril was to cook and serve three meals a day. He answered to all the crew, and was to obey their commands.

The time was no right to set sail, for the tide was tugging at the ship. Lethril helped Delwyn pull up the anchor, and then watched in amazement as the four men hoisted the sails, making the ship seem even larger and prouder. Within minutes, they were floating quietly out of the harbour alongside dozens of other ships and boats.

As soon as they reached open water, the rocking motion intensified, and Lethril started to feel sick. He had not eaten anything since the cream and bread at the inn, and all day, he had been too fascinated by everything around the harbour to think about food, but now he felt his stomach contract in cramps. He staggered to the railing for something to hold on to, but the horizon, barely visible in the half-light of dusk, went up and down before his eyes. Nothing was still, and the steady, swaying motions eventually made Lethril retch, but his belly was empty, and only a little sour fluid dripped from his mouth into the foaming sea. Some way away stood Delwyn, laughing.

'Can't handle a little breeze?' he said, sniggering.

'When will it stop?' moaned Lethril.

'Not before we reach Tolfalas,' said Delwyn.

* * *

Rather unfortunately, this Lethril's first journey was a relatively long one. With good winds, it would take them three days to reach the island of Tolfalas, that stood in the waters where the Anduin met the sea. However, once they had crossed the bay that separated Dol Amroth from the peninsula of Belfalas, they followed the coastline, and the waves were calmer. Still, Lethril found it difficult to sleep and fulfilled his duties pale-faced and drawn. It took him three whole days before he could keep down the food he cooked. On the evening of that second day, his step had finally fallen into the rhythm of the sea, and at long last some colour returned to his cheeks and he stood at the prow of the ship as they approached Tolfalas.

The ship's load consisted of only a couple of sacks of what seemed to be goods of metal, but the buyer – a positively sneaky looking man in Lethril's eyes – paid handsomely, and the captain announced that a celebration was due. To Lethril, their way of celebrating was odd, at first. They simply sat down in an inn near the harbour and started drinking. Not merrily, but with determination. After a few drinks, it started to make sense. Everything seemed to be just as it should. His insides warmed slowly, and the room seemed to acquire a golden glow, radiating from within himself. Delwyn appeared agitated, more fidgety than ever, but Lethril simply smiled, feeling truly content.

The captain began reminiscing of times fled, and before long, the talk turned to the War.

'Of course, I was only nine or ten at the time,' said Harkal, 'but I still remember the disappointment. A couple of years more, and I too would have marched East.'

'My grandfather fought and died,' said Delwyn and spat on the floor.

There were nods and murmurs all around the table. Every member of the crew had lost a loved one. Lethril, however, remained quiet.

'What about you, Lethril?' asked Delwyn then, turning his bloodshot eyes to the new recruit.

'My father survived the War,' he replied evenly. It was not exactly a lie, and he knew anything was better than the truth.

'He's a very lucky man,' said the captain and nodded gravely.

Delwyn watched Letrhil with suspicious eyes, and Lethril almost started wondering whether he could somehow tell he was not saying everything. At that moment, the captain had a word with a barmaid, and soon, five very small silver cups were brought in, each containing clear liquid. At first, Lethril thought it was water, but as soon as he downed the contents of the cup – quickly, in the fashion of his fellow sailors – his throat burned. He coughed a great many times, and felt his eyes tearing. It was like drinking peppercorns, he thought, or perhaps fire, if it could take liquid form. Delwyn slapped him roughly on the back and laughed.

'We'll make a man of the sea out of you yet,' he said, drunkenly spraying Letrhril with saliva.

He did not mind, for by now, the spirit was coursing through his blood, making him now hot, now cold, making his head swim. Much of the night passed in a blur. Time seemed to have a life of its own, speeding up and slowing down. Then everything changed, for suddenly, Delwyn stood up and punched a man at the next table.

Immediately, Lethril's head cleared, but as he stood up, he was unsteady and the room started spinning. He made it to a wall and sank against it, watching in horror as the blows fell between Delwyn and the other man. Soon, friends of the stranger started to get involved, and before long, the incident had turned into a fully-fledged brawl. Chairs were flying, and so were teeth. Panic-stricken, Lethril crawled to the door, managed to push it open and fell out into the muddy street. Not knowing what else to do, he started running towards the ship, but his gait was unsteady and he could not see too well.

Eventually, he found the right ship and somehow made it across the narrow plank from the quayside. The images of men in rage, bleeding from the nose and the mouth, swinging their fists blindly filled his mind. He felt sick to his stomach, and before he could even crawl to the railing, vomit was gushing down the front of his tunic and onto the deck. When the blackness closed in on him, it was a sweet release, a state of nothingness and a dreamless sleep.

* * *

He woke to find himself being carried by two men. The first mate had hold of his legs, and he could hear Delwyn chattering madly behind him. The grey light of dawn showed an overcast sky.

'Time to clean up, friend,' said the first mate grimly.

Lethril did not understand, and certainly did not have the time to ponder the words, for an instant later, he was swung a couple of times from side to side, then sent flying through the air. Flailing his arms wildly about him, he searched for something to keep hold of, but they had thrown him far out over the deep waters of the harbour. The shock of the cold sea punched the air out of his chest, but the next breath he took filled his lungs with brackish water. He tried waving his arms about, but sank like a stone towards the bottom. A second felt like eternity. He was no longer cold, or worried. Then strong arms embraced him, pulled him up to the surface.

Spluttering, trying to breathe normally, Lethril thought to himself that drowning had been better than being saved. Now he was cold, and his chest ached. Over to his left, the captain was shouting at the rest of the crew.

'What were you thinking? Did I not tell you he was no sailor?'

'He needed a bath, captain. Not to mention needing to learn how to swim,' said Delwyn.

'Shut your mouth! Don't think I don't know mockery when I see it! Delwyn, you will take over his chores for today. Letrhil, you can warm yourself in the kitchen.'

* * *

'It was only a bit of fun,' said Delwyn with a grin, while gutting a fish. Lethril eyed him suspiciously, a blanket around his shoulders. 'Besides, it serves you right for being a coward and abandoning the crew.'

'It is my choice whether to fight or not,' said Lethril quietly.

'You won't get many friends that way.'

After a day of rest, Lethril resumed his tasks aboard the ship, but he was quiet and kept out of the way of the others. The captain regarded him with pity, and knew that it would take a while before he was accepted by the others. He had seen it many times, but for Lethril, who had not, it was difficult.

On the morning they sailed into Dol Amroth again, Lethril sat on the railing at the prow of the ship, wondering if life would always be like this. Delwyn joined him, quiet for once, and they watched the bustle of the harbour as the first mate and Kerhal the deckhand threw the ropes towards the quay. Suddenly, Lethril spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

'Nella,' he said aloud.

Delwyn followed his gaze.

'You know her?' he asked.

'Yes. She is my friend,' answered Lethril, and then, seeing the impressed look on Delwyn's face, added, 'and a friend I like to kiss once in a while.'

With that, he took a great leap from the ship's side to the shore and started pushing his way through the crowd.

'Nella!' he shouted.

She turned around, saw his face and then turned around again. Then Letrhil saw that she was holding a young man by the arm. He turned around and glanced at Lethril.

'Do you know him, Nella?' he asked the girl.

'No,' she said nervously.

'He seems to know you.'

'He might know my name, but I don't know his. Come, let's go somewhere else.'

With that, she steered away from him, leaving him shocked and shamed. Slowly, he made his way back to the ship. Still standing at the prow, Delwyn was laughing loudly.

'And she likes to kiss others, once in a while,' he said gleefully.

Lethril said nothing. He wanted the waters to engulf him once again, wanted to sink through the very rock he was standing on, to forget and begin over again.


	4. Halbarad

**Chapter 4 – Halbarad**.

For three months Lethril sailed the waters around Dol Amroth with captain Harkal's ship and learned much of life at sea. It was early in the fourth when his old life crept up on him again. He was quick to learn, and soon he had taken over most of Delwyn's tasks while Delwyn himself was more or less left to Lethril's old tasks. At first, he went on about what an easy, lazy life he now led, but Lethril could see the hatred and shame seething within him at times. Spring had come and the streets of Dol Amroth were lined with flowers in bloom and the lands were green. Lethril was rather unhappy, and he longed to walk in the forests again, but at least felt that he was making a living.

One day when Lethril was lounging in the afternoon sun at the pier, he suddenly spotted one of the boys from his home village. How different he seemed! Lethril wondered briefly if he himself had changed, too. Then the boy spotted him, but instead of looking away again, like they normally did, he grabbed the arm of a boy beside him – also from the village, Lethril saw now – and started pointing and talking quickly. Lethril lowered his gaze, ignoring them. But someone else did not. Delwyn jumped over the ship's railing and onto the quay, ambling over to the young men. Before long, they were talking in hushed voices, shooting glances at Lethril, who continued to ignore them, for the moment. Yet he knew what was to come.

That same evening, around the dinner table, the mood was jolly, with the exception of Delwyn and Lethril, who exchanged furious glances, but kept quiet. When they had finished their meal, the captain announced that it was time to prepare to set sail. Then Delwyn rose.

'I refuse to sail another league with a traitor aboard the ship,' he said calmly.

'Traitor?' exclaimed Harkal, confused.

'It came to my knowledge today that young Lethril is the son of none other than Anthril the traitor, and all along he has denied it!'

'I did not deny it,' said Lethril in a low voice.

'So you admit it?' This time, Harkal spoke.

'Yes. My father refused to fight in the War, but it was before I was born, and I am not him.'

'Yet you inherited his weakness,' said Delwyn triumphantly 'as you are clearly too cowardly to fight another man.'

At this, Lethril flew up, leaned over the table and punched Delwyn, fast and hard. Delwyn held his nose ad made a muffled noise as it started dripping with blood, then stood up and made to rush around the table.

'Stop it, both of you!' shouted the captain. 'I will not have this on my ship!'

The two young men stood face to face, breathing heavily, trembling with excitement. Lethril was pale, his face a picture of desperate defeat. Delwyn, however, smiled wryly.

'And I will not sail with traitors,' sighed Harkal, glancing at Lethril with pity.

But Lethril's gaze was fixed upon Delwyn as he quickly and quietly collected his pack and old cloak from a corner. Without a word, he left them to further discuss his shortcomings and took to the night streets of Dol Amroth.

* * *

In a way, it reminded him of his first morning here. Only now he seemed infinitely more sure of himself. The months at sea had hardened him, and he knew he would survive, somehow. Now all he had to do was to decide where to go next. He strode up a street from the harbour to the higher levels of the city, confident but without a specific goal in mind. Suddenly someone stepped out of the shadows and blocked his way. He clenched his fist into a ball, ready to strike out, knowing now that he was capable of doing so.

'Now, now,' said the man. 'I'm not out to rob you.'

Now Lethril recognised him as the very same man he had seen on that misty morning, his face still veiled by the hooded cloak.

'You,' he said, relaxing slightly.

'Let's have a drink and talk,' said the man, motioning at a building where a warm light shone from the windows.

'I have nothing. I will not be able to pay,' said Lethril suspiciously, as he doubted this rugged stranger was particularly rich.

'I know,' said the man, who was already walking towards the inn.

Inside, the inn was clean and proper, and probably more expensive than any place Lethril had ever been. He was sure they would be back out in the streets in seconds, but to his great surprise, the barman nodded in recognition at the man by his side and drew them two ales. They sat down at a table, and Lethril sipped apprehensively at the strong brew.

'You are more careful that last time we met. That's good. A step forward,' remarked the man.

'Who are you?' asked Lethril, just as he had on their first meeting. The man smiled and lowered his hood. He was younger than Lethril had expected, with bright blue eyes and dark brown, unkept hair and a short beard. He was not from the south, but this Lethril had already guessed from his accent.

'I am Halbarad,' he said.

Lethril knew the name, of course, and furrowed his brow. Halbarad had been one of the greatest heroes of the War, fighting alongside king Elessar in the Battle of Pelennor, where he had also perished.

'I can see you are confused. Halbarad was my father, and I was conceived before he went to war. When my mother heard the news of his death, she named me Halbarad the second.'

'My Lord,' said Lethril then and inclined his head.

'Nonsense. I am simply Halbarad, and noone's lord. And you are Lethril, son of Anthril.'

'Anthril the traitor,' muttered Lethril.

'That is not for me to judge. The War was over long before I could walk.'

'How do you know so much about me?'

'I took an interest in you that morning when we last spoke,' said Halbarad and shrugged. 'I've been keeping an eye on you.'

'But why?' asked Lethril.

'I spend the winters down here sometimes. The cold up north gets me down something terrible. At least here you can move, be outside… But it gets tiresome, too, and I needed something to distract me. I'll be moving on soon though.'

'Where to?' asked Lethril, intrigued and excited at speaking to the son of a legend.

'Like my father, I was brought up a ranger, but the north lands never appealed to me. I am too much of a thinker, and not enough of a survivor to feel comfortable up there. A few of us stayed here in Gondor to be with Aragorn, and when I was old enough to travel on my own, I joined them.'

Lethril was a little confused at how Halbarad spoke of rangers as 'us' and 'them' in the same sentence, but understood that he clearly felt a strong bond with the other rangers.

'Now, I will probably journey up to Minas Tirith, stay there for a while, then see what comes along. I have the whole summer ahead of me. Where are you going, now that you no longer sail with captain Harkal?'

Marvelling again at Halbarad's precise knowledge of his life, he glanced up quickly, then shrugged, giving no reply.

'Why don't you join me?' suggested Halbarad.

Although Lethril was instantly very happy and flattered with the invitation, he did not want Halbarad to have any expectations on him that might prove wrong.

'I wouldn't be much use,' he therefore said quickly. 'I know very little of the way of rangers.'

'Not many do. But tell me, do you love the forest and the green lands?'

'I do.'

'And I have already seen that you will only use force to defend yourself and your pride, is that no true?'

'It is.'

'That that is as good a start as any. What say you? Will you join me, at least as far as the White City?'

'I will,' said Lethril then, looking up and smiling. For the first time in weeks he began to feel something akin to happiness, although he was careful not to let it overwhelm him. 'When do we leave?' he asked.

'How about now?' said Halbarad, drained his mug and wiped the froth from his beard with his sleeve.


End file.
